


Fender

by yeaka



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A quickie in the car.





	Fender

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Travelers or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Ray tastes like an ashtray, and Philip eats it up. He doesn’t know exactly when his standards dropped that low—maybe the second he came to in the twenty-first. But Ray still tastes a lot better than the yeast vats Philip grew up with, better than the assholes he messed around with before the program, and there’s probably better available in his new world, but he doesn’t want them. He likes crashing his mouth against Ray’s lips and feeling Ray’s tongue worm down his throat. He loves the way Ray’s greasy fingers dig into his sides. He finds solace in the heat of Ray’s body and the thick weight of Ray on top of him, grinding him down into the battered seats.

There’s not enough room. They’re all bent at odd angles. Philip’s legs are up around Ray’s shoulders, one of Ray’s legs digging into the backrest and the other on the floor, both of Philip’s feet hitting the roof—Ray needs a bigger car, at least if they’re going to keep fucking in it. Which they probably will. Marcy, Trevor, Carly, or even MacLaren might wander into the warehouse. This is just safer. They’re parked outside Ray’s house, but they never seem to make it in.

Technically, anyone could wander by now. They’re on a public street. Philip should _care_. But he doesn’t. He’s too busy trying to keep his neck from getting sore and his back from hurting. Ray’s fingers keep tangling in his hair and tugging too hard. He’s got both fists in Ray’s oversized jacket. He can feel a few bruises forming on his neck from Ray’s careless teeth, and he even likes that part of it—likes having reminders he can gingerly touch later when he’s horribly _alone_. Ray bears down over him and drives hard into him, kissing him with mindless fervor.

He’s getting close. No one’s touching his dick—he hasn’t even got his pants off enough—it’s just rubbing inside his rolled-down underwear, which is enough. Sometime Ray laughs at him when he comes without a hand around him, but Ray couldn’t possibly understand. He’s not mean about it. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have this _human contact_ so recklessly and wanton. He doesn’t know that Philip helped defuse a bomb last week and really thought he’d die. They made it out, Philip as happy as the rest of them, and all he could think was, _fuck_, he’d get to spend another broken-down night in Ray’s smoky arms. 

Ray grunts into his mouth and comes inside him. There’s no ceremony to it, nothing more than the usual scrape of teeth along his bottom lip and moan spilling around his lips. Philip groans and clenches, feeling it bubble up inside him—they’re way passed condoms, which is _stupid_, because he’s not completely sure they’re exclusive and he only has Ray’s word that Ray’s clean. Marcy could probably patch up anything that went wrong, but then he’d have to tell her that he lets his dirt-bag lawyer fuck him raw. She’d never let him live it down. 

Ray’s kind of like his dirty little secret. Except not so little and probably not a secret. Ray shudders and collapses atop him, still buried to the hilt and way too heavy. The kisses die off. Philip closes his eyes, buries his face in the crux of Ray’s neck, breathes everything in, and that’s enough to finish him. He spills inside his pants. Ray mumbles, “Fuck, kid. You feel _damn good._”

Philip wryly mutters, “Thanks.” Ray snorts. He’s crushing Philip’s lungs, but Philip sort of likes the burn. 

He feels vaguely gross. He knows it’ll suck if Ray dries inside him, and he’s already ruined his underwear. He knows the answer, but he still asks, “Can I come inside?”

“Like I just did?” Ray chuckles. Philip almost rolls his eyes.

“For a shower.”

Ray sighs. He eases off of Philip, out of Philip, and sort of detangles them, but can’t do a great job inside the confined space, and Philip isn’t helping. He doesn’t have the energy yet. He just stays half sprawled across Ray’s lap, weirdly enjoying the way Ray hungrily eyes him up. It’s not even _really_ his body, but it feels flattering anyway. He’s glad he can turn Ray on. He inherited a dumpy addict’s wreck he really needs to fix up, but Ray seems to like him the way he is. Ray gives him a long look, then mutters, “Sorry, no can do. My kid would throw a fit.”

Usually, Philip accepts it and leaves it there. Tonight, he’s feeling rebellious—it’s bottled up again. They’re so close they might as well just be _real_. Like he wants. He croaks out, “Why?”

Ray shrugs. “You’re pretty close to his age.” Philip scrunches his eyes closed. He wants to say that can’t be true, but Ray wouldn’t understand. “I’ll drive you home, though. You still living in that shitty warehouse?”

“Yeah.” Somehow, he’d kind of picture Ray’s house being nicer. He’s probably wrong. 

Ray shifts again, and Philip opens his eyes back up to watch Ray awkwardly climb into the front seat. He adjusts himself a bit, tucking his dick away and checking the rearview mirror in case a stray foot knocked it out of place. Philip already misses his warmth. 

As he pulls out from the curb, Ray asks, “You want a partner for that shower? Unless your dad’s gonna come out and throw a fit.” He laughs at his own joke. 

Philip’s dad is probably dead, but also hasn’t been born yet, and he’ll never know anything more about either fact. He sucks in a long breath, then admits, “Yeah. I’d like that.”


End file.
